


Pendulum

by sweeterthankarma



Category: Euphoria (TV 2019)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Character Study, Depression, Drug Addiction, F/F, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Relapse, S1E8: And Salt the Earth Behind You, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:22:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23203879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweeterthankarma/pseuds/sweeterthankarma
Summary: Rue’s alright.Not in the way other people are, but she’s never been like that, never been even remotely close to matching the kind of stability her friends and family seem to harness effortlessly. She’s okay with it only because she’s never had the luxury of knowing what it feels like, and though it’s daunting and terrifying and depressing, she’s getting better with accepting that. With accepting herself. With accepting the fact that she needs to get better, that she is getting better.She is getting better, right?
Relationships: Rue Bennett/Jules Vaughn
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	Pendulum

Rue’s alright. 

Not in the way other people are, but she’s never been like that, never been even remotely close to matching the kind of stability her friends and family seem to harness effortlessly. She’s okay with it only because she’s never had the luxury of knowing what it feels like, and though it’s daunting and terrifying and depressing, she’s getting better with accepting that. With accepting herself. With accepting the fact that she needs to get better, that she is getting better.

She _is_ getting better, right?

* * *

Rue’s alright.

She meets Jules. She loves Jules almost instantly. All she can think about is Jules, from the moment she met her. She wants Jules— wants everything about her, wants the way she talks and walks and runs and makes Rue chase after her. She wants the craziness, the bitter fights and the misunderstandings and the breathlessness that only Jules makes her feel, because oh, does Jules make her _feel._

And it’s been a long time since anyone has made Rue feel anything so she’d be fucking stupid if she let this go, you know?

Rue wants chao, Jules’ instead of her own, and she wants to escape, wants Jules by her side every step of the way, fuck the consequences. She wants the need, _needs_ the need, wants to feel the battering of her heart against her ribcage as she rests and sleeps and dreams of moments away from herself, away from her mind. She just knows, from the moment she sees Jules standing in Nate’s kitchen, wielding a knife and yelling about how invincible she is, that she needs her. This is the person she’s been waiting for. Her person. Her girl. Her Jules. 

Rue knows it’s a little forward, a little eager, but she can’t bring herself to care. She doesn’t care about much lately but this, about Jules, and she can’t bring herself to stop even if she wants to. Her mind wanders nearly every day, dreaming of the things they could be, so close to touch, and she suddenly wants to be alive, wants to be better, wants to be clean if it’ll make Jules happy, make her stay. 

Rue wants like she’s never wanted before. She wants to wake to Jules’ touches, to tangle beneath sheets and kiss her and taste her and fuck her and be fucked, but Rue is sure that with Jules— with _them—_ it’ll be different, it has to be different. With them, it’ll be love. Love making. The kind of sex that pulses, rejuvenates, makes them come alive and thrive and exist rampantly and greedily for more fuel that they can only get from each other. 

Rue’s never been confident in bed— fuck, she thinks, has she ever even actually had sex in a bed?— but she knows, if given the chance, the opportunity, the blessing, she’ll give Jules everything she needs. She’s never loved anyone before, never even had a crush that meant something as substantial as this. She’s always been too anxious, too cynical, too isolated, too caught up in her own head. And sure, she’s still in her head far too much now, afraid to really make a move on Jules and questioning herself when she does, but she’ll get out of it eventually. She wants it too much to do otherwise. 

Rue thinks about it a lot. Thinks about Jules, her body, the way she deserves to be loved, the way that she knows she’s never been loved. She thinks about it to much, maybe, but oh well, she’s finally getting why people like Maddy and Cassie can be so sex-obsessed. She thinks about it: her hands won’t question where to go, what to do, and she won’t wonder what to say because this would be more than sex, more than love, this would be them, being and becoming as fucking amazing and unstoppable as the whole goddamn _universe._

They’d belong to each other. They’d be free together. 

Free. That’s an idea. 

So then Rue says, “what if we just fucking left?” 

She’s thinking aloud, something she’s been actively trying not to do especially because her thoughts about Jules are very rarely clean or suitable for crowded places, and her thoughts towards other people are often explicit and angry, but right now she’s just speaking. She’s never really considered running away until now, never really thought of being any place but Highland, but she can’t shake the thought as soon as it arrives, sticking as quickly as the gum beneath her shoe, just as sweet. It doesn’t make sense, not really, but Rue isn’t thinking about that right now.

The city, a place where she can start over, a place where she can live, a place where she can thrive. She’d turn it into a home, as long as Jules was there. 

Anything is fine if she goes with Jules. If she has her.

“That’s fucking crazy,” Jules says, and she’s not wrong; it doesn’t make sense, not really, not at all, but Rue isn’t thinking about that right now. Jules’ eyes are bright under the street lights, the glitter on her eyelids paling in comparison, and all Rue can think about is Jules’ lips. 

Jules kisses her back, grabs her hand, leads her to the train station. 

* * *

Rue’s not alright. 

She can’t do this. Not right now. Not so suddenly, not without telling her mom or Gia or even Lexi or Cassie or Maddy, and fuck, Fez, too— she still feels like she needs to apologize to him more. She didn’t say sorry enough. She knows they’re fine now, he’s not mad— or at least he isn’t showing it— but if she were him she’d still be mad so fuck, maybe she’ll buy him a present, really try to make amends. She doesn’t even know what he could want besides maybe more drugs or alcohol to sell or just money, and God knows she’s skimped out on payments so many times so maybe just a big fat check would do, but how much would that even be? How much drugs has she really used? 

Rue doesn’t know Fez. Not really, not in a way that counts, not enough. It’s a sudden realization that makes her spiral. This man— this kid, really, they’re all just kids— has seen her desperate, screaming, angry and violent and reckless. Fez is comforting, forgiving, reliable, and Rue knows that but she doesn’t even know when his birthday is, whether it was the day that she nearly broke down his door in a demoralized rampage. 

_What if it was his birthday?_ Rue wonders, and the prospect is sad enough to make her want to cry.

She doesn’t know Fez, isn’t good to him— scratch that, she’s awful to him— and she doesn’t know Maddy or Cassie or Kat either, doesn’t even give them her full attention half the time when they talk to her. She hasn’t checked in on Lexi recently either, not really, not in a way that she deserves.

Lexi. Lexi and her kind eyes, sorry smile, wide arms always ready to take her in, welcome her home no matter how many times she’s been rendered a prop, replacing what should be Rue’s fucked up, drugged piss with her own. Lexi’s always been clean, good, pure and gentle. Rue has always just hurt her. She’s always just hurt everyone. Even herself.

Rue wants to call them. She wants to say sorry. She wants to say sorry a million times over. She wants to stay. 

Rue’s head pounds as she looks at Jules’ jacket. It shimmers in the flourescent light of the train station, catches reflections of the trash can off to the left of the map of the city. That’s where Jules is going, where she wants Rue to go. Rue doesn’t know this city. Rue doesn’t even know how much the train ticket costs, though she’s gripping the receipt so hard in her hand that it might tear. Rue sweats, her fist dampening the paper. Soon enough she won’t be able to read it. She won’t be able to know how much it cost. She really wants to know how much it cost.

Jules is laughing about something, Rue doesn’t know what— and Rue doesn’t know Jules either. The thought comes rushing at her so quick she gets dizzy, thinks she trips a little. Jules doesn’t steady her, doesn’t notice.

Jules, Jules, Jules. She loves her. Fuck, she loves her _so fucking much,_ but she doesn’t even know her.

She doesn’t even know herself.

“I’m so excited!” Jules says, voice shrill and somewhat intoxicated, _intoxicating,_ but Rue looks at her and wants to cry. She’s giddy and alive and right where she wants to be, right where she needs to be. It’s beautiful and tragic and wrong. 

This isn’t where Rue is meant to be. 

She isn’t meant to be beside her, not right now. She isn’t meant to be with Jules right now. She isn’t meant to be with Jules. 

Rue lets go of her hand. She can’t do this. She needs her meds. She needs more clothes and her shampoo and a warmer blanket and her shoes, she forgot her favorite shoes so she just can’t go, not now, not yet, and maybe not ever. 

Maybe she’s okay with that. With staying put. With not leaving. Maybe she can be free here, too.

Rue is spiraling and she knows it, feels like she’s making it obvious, but Jules isn’t even looking. She won’t turn around, she’s too busy with her face turned to the wind, watching the next approaching train roll in, and Rue doesn’t need to see her eyes; she knows they’re wild, bright, unafraid.

Rue doesn’t get on the train, and Jules does. It feels like both the biggest relief and worst nightmare happening at once, contradictions surrounding Rue so fiercely that when the train is out of sight she crumples to the ground, sobbing. 

* * *

Rue’s alright. 

She doesn’t need Jules, doesn’t need anyone. She wants them and they want her back— sometimes at least, if she’s lucky— but at least she has her mom and Gia and hell, even her distant cousins that she sees on Christmas and Easter. They’re something. They’re not enough, but they’ll suffice. 

She doesn’t need anyone.

She doesn’t need Jules.

* * *

Rue’s not alright. 

She needs Jules. 

She wants Jules. She only wants Jules. Jules, Jules, Jules, fucking _Jules,_ the only one ever on Rue’s mind, the only one to be bold enough to make her feel.

But Jules isn’t hers, not anymore. She isn’t sure if she ever really was to begin with.

Rue’s skin burns with the memory of her touch, makes her throat sting and her hands move, searching her room and rummaging recklessly through her things. The stash is here, the stash has to be here.

The stash isn’t here.

She’s not alright. 

* * *

Rue’s not alright. 

She’s so fucking alone. 

Her head pounds, her breath reeks of cheap alcohol— Burnett’s vodka, she thinks it was, though honestly she doesn’t even remember what she put into her body and that should scare her, that should definitely scare her, but it doesn’t. It’s been a long time since anything scared her. Except losing Jules, of course, and that’s the fucking reason she’s here in the first place, walking, _running_ down a street she doesn’t know the name of. 

The drugs make her feel like a stranger, make her imagine that she’s looking at herself— no, looking through herself— just to observe and ridicule and pity, and she watches herself with disappointment as she stumbles on the sidewalk. Every vein in her body feels like it’s on fire when she trips, and she both loves and hates the feeling. Hates the way she loves it. Loves the way she hates it.

She’s a fucking mess, but she doesn’t know how else to be. 

* * *

Rue’s alright.

For just a minute, she’s alright. The high sinks in, allowing her a brief moment to forget her pain, and she floats. She’s not on Earth anymore— she’s pretty sure she’s in a bush, or at least near a bush, and there’s a moment of embarrassment when she realizes it, like _wow I’m so fucked up I’m really laying in a shrub right now_ and _ow thorns are poking me but I can’t move_ and then she starts laughing. She forgets why almost immediately. Her hand brushes her face and she pretends it’s Jules, imagines she’s here with her, tripping and loving and staying. 

* * *

Rue’s not alright.

She screams at the top of her lungs for no reason, vomits into some stranger’s trash can, attempts to hitchhike home until she ends up being denied by multiple drivers. It’s almost comical, and at some point she laughs again. She laughs a lot, even as she cries. She chews her nails to a stump, scratches them against her thighs, against her hips, against every place she wishes she could change. She scratches at her whole body.  
Somehow she finds her way back home, though she doesn’t remember walking, doesn’t remember even feeling her legs move. She lays on the grass of her lawn, staring at the mailbox and wondering if she had ever even left to begin with. She doesn’t remember which way she left the house. She doesn’t remember leaving her bedroom. 

She doesn’t remember what she took. She doesn’t remember who she got it from. 

Rue’s not alright.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr under the same username, sweeterthankarma. Feel free to talk to me there or in the comments about Euphoria or other fandoms!


End file.
